Shadow of the day
by Hitsuiro Issa
Summary: Another Death note drabble. Raito thinks back to everything that had happened. One thought enters his head- what is there after death? Is it just Mu? Oneshot.


**Shadow of the Day**

**HitsuiroIssa**

A/N: If only I could kick this MS word… . Here's a drabble about what happened when Raito was dying. Based on the Anime version, not the manga. RxR please. But I think it's crappy, so enough said. xD Oh, the title's from the song by Linkin Park- "Shadow of the Day". It suited him, really, and I spent the whole day imagining what would happen. Here's the result now. Sucks.

Disclaimer: The characters of Death note are not mine. I only wish people would quit suing people for such things. I mean, let people dream. Kidding. The ferryman is mine (yeah right). Okay, fine.

I don't own anything. . 

What is death?

Is it the halting of all life-giving organs, forever shutting down?

Is it the pain of losing someone so dear to you that everything else felt so numb?

Is it the silence of darkness closing in around you, whereas your soul cannot be free?

Death is pain and numbness. Death is light and darkness.

Death is nothingness.

The throbbing of a pained heart entered his ears. It was steady, beating, but frail all the same. Was it his? He did not know.

He realized this only now, lying on the stairs in his own pool of blood. His position was uncomfortable; his head rested heavily on the sharp end of the gravel, and his limbs lay beaten by his sides, unable to help himself. He had never felt so helpless in his life. But his soul no longer had control over his human shell; he was only waiting for something to take him away.

But who would? He thought back to all those stories been told to him about the afterlife- stories of angels and demons, stories of reincarnation and nirvana...baffling religions that only confused human beings more, without any shred of evidence in them. No proof that they existed. But despite all his qualms about such topics, there was one belief he amused himself with...the story of the ferryman.

The river that separated the confused spirits, the lonesome wraiths, and the simply dead from the land of eternal bliss – or damnation, if 'the Creator' saw fit – was traversed only by the Ferryman. He was a creature of darkness, a gaping hole on the opposite end of the boat, who extended a pale, scraggly hand whenever a soul approached it. No one has a precise description of the said phantom; he was a creature of tales wrapped in mystique, overflowing with countless questions. Though the person who originally told him of this said that this apparition was only a dark hole, a vague mixture of everything, what he had imagined in his mind that night was a wraith of some sort, with icicles lining the dark robes.

One must pay to be able to cross the river- and if you didn't offer anything to the ferryman, this vague shadow would close his hand and point somewhere far away, somewhere that cannot be seen from the position of the riverbank, among the swirling infinity of the Netherlands.

He smiled inwardly in the sunlight- suppose this story was true. What was he to do now? He couldn't even reach his wallet. Though something told him it was not money the ferryman wanted.

Everything that had happened to him felt like they were dreams; something less than cruel reality, a horrible sleeping vision that would go away as soon as he opened his eyes- in this case, as soon as he closes his hazel orbs. The pain he once felt in his body was ebbing away, not because he was healing, but because the feeling was…gone. Numb. He reckoned if he might slide down this gravel fleet of stairs, he wouldn't feel the stinging sensation of his wounds, or it would be useless if his head developed a concussion. He wouldn't feel it anyway, so he wouldn't know. Not that he would bother to.

What kept him conscious? He knew it wasn't pain, of course- as he had reasoned earlier, the pain was nothing. Perhaps regret? Perhaps guilt? He could understand now, and every little thing made sense. Though nothing could be done anymore- it was too late.

The rays of sunlight shone over him, like an angel waiting for his soul…and yet, no matter how much he disapproved such beliefs, he let himself immerse in this _grace_ that illuminated the dark wall; that cast away the shadows in his tired, bloodied face.

He dared to look further beneath the iron bars that lay visible in his dimming vision. There was a faint light there, so faint that he might not have noticed it earlier. It wasn't made by the light from the windows, he knew, and his heart ached in sorrow.

It couldn't be, yet it was.

The phantom hid his eyes under the glowing mop of dark hair. He was slouched- the same lousy posture he always had. But this time, he was not eating any sweets or strawberry cakes; he just stood there, standing in the darkness.

He longed to approach the spirit, his only friend…though he never admitted it himself, it was the truth. Once again the piercing guilt was felt in his stomach- why had he never appreciated things such as this before? He realized, with a parting grin, that he had always been a fool, consumed by his goals and intelligence- the sweet irony of having himself the cause of his own downfall.

And yet, it couldn't have been better. He made it all this way. He only slipped; cornered by everybody and there was nothing he could do. Two or more minds are always better than one genius.

Thinking back, he recalled the story teller had died in a robbery a few days later. He was overcome with grief and had used the death note to avenge the old man- who was so friendly and entertaining with his numerous stories of such like the ferryman. He himself had been the last to leave the funeral; when nobody was looking, except Ryuk, of course, he had placed two coins into the dead man's palm, thinking that if ever the ferryman did exist, a person such as the old man would have something to pay him and enter this eternal afterlife beyond the river.

That had been months ago. He wasn't so immersed in his goal of becoming the god of the new world. He was still himself, the studious Raito Yagami.

He let his eyelids drop at last, the soft sunlight beating on his skin.

He only wished that somebody corporeal was there- someone who could touch him and press two coins upon his palm so that somehow, he would be able to pay the ferryman.

_**And the Shadow of the Day**_

_**Will embrace the world in gray**_

_**And the sun will set for you.**_

But he did not deserve it. And no one was left to bother to.


End file.
